


Kiss and Make Up

by Saturn_the_Almighty



Series: He Looks Good In Red [6]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comedy, Drama, Fluff, Gen, He Looks Good In Red, Kissing, M/M, Mild Language, Sam is stupid and so is Sarge, Sappy Ending, Sharing a Bed, Shenanigans, Simmons is pissed, Stealing a Bed, This is not as happy as the rest but then it is, Um... Angst?, comedy?, post s15, red team - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-22 20:00:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14316087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saturn_the_Almighty/pseuds/Saturn_the_Almighty
Summary: Grif and Simmons take it upon themselves to help out Sam and Sarge. No one wants a repeat of the endless fiasco that was theirownrelationship.





	Kiss and Make Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sxpaiscia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxpaiscia/gifts).



> A lil bit of Grif and Simmons POV in the first bit. Like, more than usual. I'm _really_ milking this AU dry, eh? I hope you enjoy, I had fun writing this and I'm sorry y'all but I lied. I hope you're ready because this. Is... The finale.

After the incident in the kitchen, all of Red Team got quieter. By the time dinner time rolled around, Simmons was humming to himself to drive away the silence as he set the table (which no one else would do). He eyed Sam in particular as the rest filed into the common room and took their usual seats. Sam at one end of the table, Sarge at the other.

Simmons considered himself to be good at reading people. Okay, maybe he was just decent, but it didn't take much to see that the two were purposefully avoiding the gaze of the other. Sam had his eyes glued to his mug of tea and Sarge was pretending to actually care about the sorry state their silverware was in.

It was almost enough to make him deck one or both of them. With his prosthetic... Which was made of carbon fiber and reinforced with steel. And had very sharp edges (which wasn't a very good idea, since he kept poking Grif with it).

"Simmons!" Grif shouted from the table. He pinned Simmons with a questioning look, flicking his eyes down at Simmons hands, which were curled very tightly around the handle of a cast-iron pan filled with Chorusian Salmon. He loosened his grip and smiled sheepishly at Grif.

Simmons shook himself for good measure and reminded himself not to get so lost in thought. What if he had dropped the pan on his one good foot? What if he had lost a toe like Caboose?

Simmons slowly walked over to the table, careful not to drop the pan, and scanned the table for a place to put it amongst the fried potatoes, sautéed broccoli, Mac and cheese (with real cheese) and fresh baked bread. He had made a lot of food.

Well, Grif stress ate, he stress cooked. Who could blame him? Cooking helped his nerves and the whole Sam and Sarge thing was getting really annoying. Oh, who was he to talk? It took him and Grif almost fifteen years to stop being idiots.

The two grown men avoiding eye contact like the space plague could learn a thing or two about taking chances. Simmons inadvertently huffed angrily and set the pan down a little too hard on the stainless steel tabletop. All of Red Team nearly jumped out of their seats.

"Sorry," Simmons deadpanned, not oblivious to the fact that Grif was still giving him a worrisome look. He sat down and patted Grif's leg for reassurance, adding a faked smile to make sure.

Grif knew when Simmons was faking. He had known the man for fifteen goddamn years, of course he was gonna know when something's wrong. Grif finished serving himself food and looked at Simmons.

"What's up?" he stage-whispered. Simmons' fake smile faltered. He shrugged his shoulders weakly and shook his head. He did that when he thought whatever was bothering him didn't matter. And that was always bullshit. Anything and everything Simmons was thinking about mattered to Grif.

"Dude," Grif tried again. "Don't get all mopey on me. Tell me what's up," he said, using a soft tone to try to coax Simmons into talking. He watched Simmons inhale deeply and get up from his seat, pulling Grif with him. They ducked into the hallway, out of earshot. Grif leaned against the wall and waited patiently.

Simmons dragged his human hand down his face in frustration. "I- I was just thinking about... We have been so stupid," he started Grif crossed his arms and snorted. If there was one thing he knew for sure, it was that he and Simmons were idiots.

Church had been right when he called them that daily.

"Yeah, no shit Cinnamon," Grif muttered. Simmons cracked a real smile at the nickname and continued, remembering to keep his voice down. "And now Sarge is being stupid. More than usual. He's crazy-stupid. An now he's being emotional-stupid." Simmons closed his eyes and took a grounding breath.

Grif pushed himself off the wall and looked up at Simmons, who had wrapped his arms around his shoulders and looked like a cold, wet kitten. "Is this about the Sam thing?" he guessed. Simmons gave him a small nod and opened his eyes again. His mechanical eye glowed a soft, dull red in the dark hallway.

"Ever since Sarge stopped hiding in Donut's room and went to talk to Sam, they've both been avoiding each other. and when they _do_  look at each other, it's- it's like guilty looks and awkward glances!" Simmons threw his hands up and started pacing the hallway.

"I'm sick of it! It's only been a few hours but I hate emotional Sarge who says some stuff and then doesn't follow up! I hate emotional Sam who's too idiotic to realize he has a crush, much less do something about it!"

Grif stopped Simmons from pacing and grabbed him by the shoulders. His metal arm was warm. If he stayed pissed, he might overheat. The last time that happened, he passed out on Grif's bed and he didn't have the heart to move him.

"Simm, you gotta calm down," Grif said. "It's gonna be fine." He pulled Simmons closer and wrapped his arms around him. Simmons relaxed into his hug, letting out a small groan. "I just don't want them to end up like us," he muttered. "Dancing around each other for fifteen years."

Grif hummed. "If they do, it won't be our problem," he noted. Simmons gave him a more forceful groan. "But I feel like it is!" he lamented. "And it's gonna haunt me!" Grif huffed unhappily. He let go of Simmons and gave him a frown. "Fine. I'd you're gonna be like that, well take matters into our own hands."

Simmons out his hands on his hips and did that thing where he pursed his lips and raised one of his eyebrows a fraction of an inch. "You mean you're gonna make me do it," he clarified. Grif shrugged. "You're the one who wanted to help them. I have an idea." He started walking back towards the common room.

"Meet me outside Sam's room after I eat. I'm not doing anything on an empty stomach," he said as he left. Simmons let his shoulders slump when Grif got out of sight. He finally understood what Donut meant when he said matchmaking was hard work.

* * *

 

"So Sam," Grif started. He was sitting on the couch after dinner sipping a cup of chamomile tea. "Kai said she wanted to take pictures of the moon. Apparently Andersmith got a new camera that's really good for that sort of thing. She wants you to come with her," Grif said casually.

If Sam was suspicious, he did a great job of hiding it. "Alright," he said, keeping his answer short and ...Not quite sweet. His tone was bitter.He put his nearly empty cup of tea on the coffee table and stood up abruptly. Grif watched him walk stiffly to the door and leave the base. He closed the door forcefully and Grif could hear Simmons yelp from the other room.

As soon as Sam left, Grif whipped his head around to look towards the kitchen. "Clear," he whispered, scrambling over the back of the couch and running over to Simmons, who was still doing the dishes. Grif grabbed Simmons' hand, barely giving him enough time to dry them, and dragged him down the hall to Sam's room.

"Okay, genius. What's your plan?" Simmons asked. He kept his voice low, even though no one was even in the base. Sam was with Kai, Sarge and Donut had gone over to Blue Base to teach Caboose how to knit and Lopez always fucked off to who-knew-where after dinner. Grif gestured to the door.

"You're gonna steal his bed," Grif said, his voice filled with pure glee. Simmons scoffed. "Really? I'm gonna take his bed out of his room just like that? What do I look like, some kind of superhero?" Grif stared at him for a second and flicked his eyes down to Simmons' prosthetic.

"What, did Dr. Grey not give you super-strength?" Grif asked. Simmons gave him an incredulous look. "No!" he said. "No, she did not. So you're going to help me with this stupid idea of yours or I might just accidentally give all your chips to Caboose."

Grif gasped, his eyes going wide. "Oh, we're already threatening? _Fine_." He threw up his hands and opened the door. He shouldn't have been surprised to see that Sam's room was fairly clean and organized. Not nearly as much as Simmons', but he was still impressed.

The only thing differentiating the room from an IKEA display were the clothes, all in various shades of red and green, in somewhat neat piles around the room. And the bed hadn't been made.

Grif wasted no time in pulling the bed out from the corner in which it had been pushed. He moved to pick up one side of it, motioning with his chin for Simmons to do the same. Simmons stood in the doorway wringing his hands for a moment more before shrugging with resignation and helping Grif slowly carry the bed out of Sam's room and into the common room.

It wasn't nearly as heavy as either of them had expected, making it much easier and quicker to open the front door and practically run out of the base and out toward the massive boulder on the beach, the perfect place to stash a bed.

* * *

 

When Sam got back from spending quality time with Kai and listening to her go on and on about her cool new job on Chorus, all he wanted to do was sleep. He kicked off his shoes at the door and walked through Red Base, acutely aware of how quiet it was.

Everyone else was probably asleep. It was late, after all. So late that if he didn't get to his room fast, he might drop right in the middle of the floor. Sam was thankful he had managed to keep his eyes open when he turned the doorknob and opened the door to his room. All he could think about was his nice, warm comfy be-

Except there was a severe lack of a bed in his room.

He was too tired for this shit. Sam dragged a hand down his face and groaned. He quickly went through the list of people who would logically steal his bed. Weirdly, Caboose was number one on that list but probably because he really wanted a bunk bed but Wash kept telling him he couldn't have one. So he went with number two, because nobody liked dealing with tired Caboose. Tired Caboose got cranky.

Sam knocked on Donut's door a bit more forcefully than he probably should have, but he didn't care. He was pissed, it was late and he sure as hell wasn't sleeping on the floor.

"Where is my bed, Donut?" he asked as soon as a sleepy Donut opened the door. Sam got a quizzical look and a small yawn. "Uh... What?" Donut asked. Sam lightly tugged on Donut's arm, dragged him over to his room and gestured simply to the empty space in his room.

"Someone actually took my bed... Out of my room," he said lamely. Donut's eyes got wide. "Uh... I don't know what to tell you, Sam, but I didn't do it," he said. Sam sighed. He tilted his head towards the ceiling and desperately wanted to scream.

Instead, he went with the first idea that popped into his head. He took a deep breath, cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed _"TEAM MEETING!"_ Donut jumped a few feet in the air and let out a yelp. He heard someone (probably Grif) hit their head against the wall and utter a quiet 'fuck'.

Once everyone was assembled in the common room, most of them with sour expressions, Sam swept his eyes over the rest of the team and asked them "Who took my bed?" No one answered. Sarge still wasn't looking at him. Lopez wasn't even present, but he was too terrified of Sam to steal from him,

Sam let the silence sit for a single second before snapping "I'm tired. I've had a stressful day and I want to go to sleep." He exhaled loudly. "Please just tell me if you did it," he pleaded.

"Well, you know who insisted that he get a bigger bed than the rest of us?" Grif muttered. His gaze slowly slid over to Sarge and he sent Sam a meaningful eyebrow raise. Sam narrowed his eyes at him.

"No."

Simmons nodded sleepily. "Yes," he mumbled, heavily leaning on Grif's shoulder. Sarge crossed his arms and somehow managed to look even more pissed. "I agree with Sam, no," he said. Grif and Simmons both let out simultaneous sighs. "Okay then. Have fun finding your bed," Grif said as he stood up and started back towards his room.

"This is not funny," Sam warned. He heard a snort from Simmons and could have sworn he heard Donut mumble "It's kinda funny." Simmons stood up to follow Grif and spared a glance at Sarge and Sam. "Will you two stop being babies already? Either talk to him or figure it out yourself, Samuel," he said. His voice was bitter and tired and it didn't sound anything like him.

Sam frowned. "Screw you all. I don't des-" he stopped, considering his words carefully. His silence made everyone stop in their tracks. Grif turned around. It wasn't that he didn't deserve it. If anything he _did_  deserve it. He'd been playing with Sarge's feeling unknowingly for weeks, maybe even months. He felt horrible. But... How could he make Sarge feel better if he didn't know what to do? He didn't know how to deal with it. He didn't know if he felt anything for Sarge and seeing him so upset made if hard to maintain eye contact.

Sam made himself look at Sarge. Made himself look at the tired and disappointed expression he wore. He didn't hate Sarge, he just... "I don't want this." His words rang cold in the quiet room. He could see the way all of Red Team tensed up simultaneously. He could see the way everyone glanced between him and Sarge.

Shit. Why did he say that? He shouldn't have looked at him. It gave the wrong impression. Now everyone thought he hated Sarge, because who would say something so heavy right to his face? It looked bad. He should explain. Explain that by that, he meant he didn't want to _deal_  with Grif and Simmons' bullshit so late at night.

Sam opened his mouth to speak but instead got a pained- yes, _pained_ \- look from Sarge as he stomped past him, his hands curled into fists and his shoulder bumping into Sam's elbow as he made the kind of exit Donut would die for.

He was so dramatic. Blue Team had _nothing_  on Sarge.

Sam was frozen to the spot as he watched Sarge stalk out of the room. Grif and Simmons both shook their heads and went back to bed. Donut gave him a quick pat on the shoulder before following them. And then Sam was alone, tired and without a bed.

Fuck it, he wanted to go to sleep. And if he talked to Sarge, they could get things figured out and he could do just that. Sam rubbed his eyes a few times to keep himself awake and headed down the hall to Sarge's room. What was the worst that could happen? Sarge would yell at him and maybe throw a few punches. The best that could happen, Sarge would readily forgive him and let him sleep. Sam wished for the best case scenario.

Sam knocked gingerly on the door and waited for an answer. He could hear Sarge moving around in his room, so he was clearly awake and capable of hearing Sam. So he was just ignoring him. Yeah, that made sense. Sam waited for a while and was about to give up and just go sleep on the uncomfortable couch before the door slowly clicked open and Sarge peeked out, doing his best to keep a neutral expression.

Sarge had always had a better poker face. Sam fidgeted for a second before opening his mouth to speak. "I- may I come in," he asked. His voice was lowered because the chances that Donut was hiding somewhere within earshot were dangerously high. Sarge knew that. He reluctantly opened the door wide enough for Sam to get through.

Sarge was the first so say anything after Sam positioned himself against the wall, giving Sarge his space. Sarge sat down heavily on his bed and sighed."I don't know exactly what you meant earlier but I want this." The conviction in his voice made it clear that he had thought a lot about his words and meant every single one. "And if you don't, then alright, but THIS isn't going to go away any time soon." He pressed a hand to his chest and Sam watched as his ribs expanded and contracted slowly. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered. Sarge lifted his eyes up to meet Sam's and glared at him. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to say sorry unless you _really_  are?" he asked. His tone made it sound more like an accusation.

"I'm _sorry_ ," Sam said again. He poured every ounce of truth he could into it. Sam stepped closer to Sarge. "I was being stupid and selfish and I tried not to think about it because I was scared what would happen when I realized that I-" Sam cut himself off, his eyes growing wide. "I do too," he finally whispered.

Sarge looked at him quizzically. "You what?" he asked. Sam dropped his arms at his sides and crouched next to Sarge. He slowly took his hands and stared up at him.

" _I_ _like_  you."

Sam saw a smile pulling at corners of Sarge's mouth but he wasn't done yet. A realization like that went hand in hand with a few more frivolous words. "I should have realized it sooner, should have stopped denying it because there's no reason for me to be scared of this, right?" Sam asked.

Sarge let his smile get bigger and sook his head. "Not a chance. Love shouldn't make you scared," he said. He pulled Sam closer into a tight hug. Sam leaned into his touch and sighed. "I hope this means you aren't mad at me anymore?" Sam wondered aloud. Sarge grunted. "I was never mad at you."

"Mostly at myself because I was sure I messed things up beyond repair," Sarge finished. Sam's expression softened. At least he wasn't the only one freaking out. Sam got up and moved over to sit next to Sarge on the bed. "Why did it take us this long to talk?" he wondered out loud. Sarge shrugged. "I told you I wasn't good with emotions," he reminded Sam.

"I'm not either," Sam admitted. That earned him a bump on the shoulder and an even bigger smile form Sarge.  "That much is obvious," Sarge mumbled with a playful tone. Sam had half a mind to offer a retort, but he thought better of it. He was content as it was, even as silence fell between them and filled the few inches between them.

Those inches suddenly felt like miles. Sam wondered if he could move closer or lean on Sarge's shoulder or something. Or he could- "Sam?" Sarge's voice broke Sam out of this thoughts. He snapped his head up to look at Sarge. "Mmm?" To be honest, he was too tired to answer properly. And he was too tired for what Sarge said. "Can I kiss you?" His eyes widened just slightly, his breath hitched.

But he turned so he was facing Sarge and breathed "Yes," without hesitation. A 'please' went unsaid... Just barely. A huge smile broke across Sarge's face and he leaned forward, almost unaware that Sam met him halfway.

Their lips smashed together and Sam realized that Sarge had no concept of 'take it slow'. He grabbed at Sam's shirt collar until he got ahold of it and pulled him down onto the bed. Sam had to prop himself up with his arm to avoid falling ontop of Sarge.

Sam's hair fell over his shoulders and brushed against Sarge's face. If he was bothered by it, he didn't say anything. Apparently, exploring every inch of Sam's face with his hands and lips was more enjoyable.

"We should really sleep," Sam mumbled, his face half-covered by Sarge's hands. Sarge nodded. "Mhmm." Even without saying any real words, Sam could tell he wasn't planning on it. "No really, I'm going to pass out," Sam insisted.

Sarge smirked at him and let go of his face in favor of pulling Sam's arm around his waist and holding it there. And really, Sam didn't mind if his bed stayed missing a little while longer, as long as it meant he could curl up every night and have Sarge right next to him.

**Author's Note:**

> HOLy shit, this is not nearly as long as I thought it was...
> 
> I hope y'all don't think Red Team was too OOC in this. I mean, they were all fed up with how stupid Grif and Simmons were. No one wants to have to go through that again. Communication, Y'all! Number one rule in _any_ relationship.
> 
> Well, I hope you enjoyed this. These boys couldn't have made things any more complicated, but they finally took the time to talk things out and look what happened! Everyone's happy now!
> 
> I can't tell you all how happy it makes me to have reached the end of this series! It started out so different and I honestly didn't expect it to turn into this, but here we are. I'm pretty happy with the end result. The first one was probably my favorite, however. Thank you all for sticking with me, I'm pleasantly surprised at how many of you like this rare pair! Thanks so much for reading, I love you! ❤❤❤
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment and tell me what you thought! Or tell me which one was you're favorite! ❤❤❤


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